


i can see stars in your eyes

by eversincewefellapart



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bubble Bath, Facials, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, harry is eighteen and louis is twenty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>AU where Louis works at Bath And Body Works and Harry goes in to buy some new bathing products after a rough day and they start flirting and things happen.</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em>The next time Harry goes to the shop, Louis' bent over, organizing a shelf of lemon hand cream (good for mosquito bites) that got knocked over. Harry sneakily stands behind him, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to see Louis' bent-over bum is right at level with his crotch. Interesting. </em>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	i can see stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> for [ju](http://samegig.tumblr.com/) / [bath and body works](https://www.google.ca/search?q=bath+and+body+works&client=firefox-a&hs=LM5&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=fflb&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=JDaFUoyuCKHJygH94ICoAg&ved=0CAkQ_AUoAQ)
> 
> (everyone in this fic is american (except louis (just bc (please note: i am canadian.))))

-

High school is _hard_.

And the awful, terrible, oh-God-what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this thing is, it’s not just hard because of work.

It’s hard because you have to get along with the teachers, hard because high school students are so ratchet they make you want to blow them up and to Pluto (Harry knows Pluto doesn't count, but that’s what makes the idea so lovely), and hard because if you skip one day to let your poor ache-y bones rest, you’ll be under a ton of work the next day.

Harry’s sitting in ComTech right now, an elective he really didn't want but opted for because he’s eighteen- he’s been through quite a few electives, knows his ways around the bad and good, easy and hard, boring or bearable- and yeah, he wishes he hadn’t opted for it because all it does, day after day, is give him a headache.

Girls are sitting on the desks without computers, boots stomping on the chairs to hike their knees up and use the cell phone, boys are swiveling in the roll-y chairs and calling each other _faggots_ with their puberty-ridden, annoying-as-fuck-all voices, and the teacher is sitting at the head computer, bags under his eyes deeper than at the beginning of the year. Harry thinks if he looks close enough he can see Mr. Adamo’s bottom lip trembling.

 _I feel you,_ he says sympathetically in his mind.

Now, Harry’s a lot of things, some bad, most good, and he’s not a liar. Usually, he’d be sitting in one of those swirly chairs, calling a guy who thinks he’s his friend a derogatory term too, because he’s a jock and that’s what jocks are expected to do, but firstly: Liam, Niall, Zayn, or the rest of his ‘boys’ (see: assholes he actually hates(minus Zayn, Liam and Niall, of course)) aren't in this class, and second, it’s his last class of the day. He’s already gone through so much that here, he just wants to sit in a chair at a computer and photoshop fucking watercolours to an ancient Roman photo of a boat. It’s _honestly_ not much to ask.

He usually gets through this class- it’s been four months since this semester started, of course he does- but today, _today_ , he might snap. Not loudly, though. Mindfully.

As he slips in his earbuds and tries to watercolour his fucking Roman boat, he decides he’s gonna treat himself. Treat himself to whatever greasy foods he wants, treat himself to a splurge on the really expensive porn on PornOnDemand for a nice, long wank on the couch, and then treat himself to a nice bath after all that. He can do it, after all; he’s got a steady job yet he rarely spends any money on dumb things, there weren’t any homework handouts today, and nearly three hours after turning eighteen five months ago he moved to his own apartment. He can so do it.

He shifts in his chair a bit, hands stilling on the computer’s mouse. He’s nearly getting a boner just thinking about it all.

-

After school, he drives to the mall and heads to the Bath and Body works shop. You can’t have a calming bath without calming bath things, is what he thinks.

At the front of the store is a girl in uniform, handing out cream samples to passerby’s. Harry glances at it, but notes it’s based on freesia- he hates that scent.

In the shop are a few women and couples, a girl at the cash register, and a boy crouched on the floor, stacking flat round tubs of lime face cream. The whitewash lights makes the yellow and green of the floors and walls look sweet and homey, warm. It smells like soap and bodywash.

He moves over to the shelf marked _bathroom essentials_ , studying the items, brushing his fingertips over the labels. A moment later, he feels someone walk up behind him.

“Do you have anything in particular you’re looking for?” It’s very British. Harry groans inwardly.

He turns around, about to say _no, I was just browsing_ when he sees it’s the guy who was stacking the lime cream. And he’s, like, hot. And pretty. And golden. Oh, fuck, his skin is golden.

“Um, yes, I was- am, still,” he says, smiling. “I- I wanted to take a bath today, first time in a while. What do you recommend?”

“Hm,” the boy says, curling his index finger under his mouth, his very pink mouth, “I’d go with a normal bubble bath. You’re obviously not well-excelled enough for bath salts or the like yet.” He grins up at Harry jokingly.

“S’alright,” Harry says dismissively, smug inside because flirting is his forte and you can press a gun to his temple right now but he’s gonna do it still, “I’m well-excelled in other things, so it’s not a big loss, y’know?”

The boy’s eyebrows raise, and he smiles, eyes twinkling. “Are you?”

“I am.” Harry looks down the shelf. “So, where are those bubble bath things?”

-

Harry goes home that day with two bags full of body care items and a smile on his face.

He wanks that night, after gorging on Chinese, but it’s not to the expensive porn.

-

A few days later, he goes back to the store.

The boy- Louis, Harry likes to recall in ComTech class, a dreamy smile on his face- is bent over mid-level, organizing a shelf that got messed up. Harry stands behind him, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to tell that Louis’ bent-over arse is at perfect level with his dick.

Hell yeah.

“Hey,” he says, and Louis looks over his shoulder, grinning when he sees Harry. He stands up, straightening out the apron.

“Back so soon? I sent you home with enough products to become a health and wellness clitician.”

Harry holds up a hand. “Nope, no clitician in my future- I’m here for architecture.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Wow. Good for you. But I’m still not sure architects need all that, H.”

Harry preens inwardly at the nickname. “Right. But I just realized I need foot cream.”

Louis hums, turning around and scanning the shelf. “Alright. What scent are you interested in?”

“Do you have every scent?”

Louis glances at him, and Harry is allowed to think his smirk is sorta filthy. “Not every, _every_.”

Harry blinks, before blinking again when he realizes. “Oo _ooohhhh_.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and he seems to have a permanent smile or something, “yeah.”

-

Harry goes home with his foot cream and a brain whirring, thinking of more excuses to go back.

-

The next few times he goes, Louis gives him little knowing glances when he blushes and stutters over telling him what he needs this time.

It’s hard to stay away, though, because Louis’ all smiley and happy, hair in a soft quiff or brushed over his forehead, twinkly blue eyes, and he’s so tiny and pretty and wity and funny and curvy and cute- he’s only got one tattoo, and it’s a little stickman on a skateboard, and it’s so cute it makes Harry want to punch something in anger and confusion on how someone can be that _cute_ \- so yeah, Harry likes being around Louis.

Sue him.

On the fourth visit, he and Louis have a mocha and an apple fritter in the foodcourt, and they talk.

Louis’ twenty, majoring in drama, and he paints in his spare time. He’s got four sisters, a macbook with drawings all over the top, and a love for quirky and bright clothing. Harry’s super-duper in love.

-

When he goes home that day, he practices asking someone (Louis) on a date in the mirror.

“D’you wanna get a coffee- d’you want to get a coffee- do you want to get a coffee with me- what the fuck-”

It’s frustrating, because Harry’s confident and a jock and he’s got girls and boys wrapped around his finger and he can even woo a date’s dad to like him and here he is, asking his bathroom mirror out to coffee. What the _fuck_.

-

The fifth time, Harry asks Louis out for a coffee. He says it bluntly, but his mind races like a galloping horse. Louis says yes, cradling a whole bunch of pomegranate hand-soap bottles in his arms. Harry wants to kiss him.

-

“What do you do?” Louis asks, stepping into Harry’s flat. It’s been cleaned from top to bottom, which was quite a feat, because Harry has basically every trait of a teenager with a dirty flat, and he lived up to that cliche.

“I go to high school,” he answers closing the door but not locking it, “and I part-time at the movie theatre.”

“You go to high school?” Louis asks, turning around, eyes wide. “How old are you?”

“Legal, that’s how old,” Harry says, leering at Louis. Louis rolls his eyes, slipping off his hoodie. His hair in that soft quiff again, which might be a favourite for Harry, and he’s wearing a plain white shirt with the tightest jeans Harry’s ever seen in the history of ever, creamy white and clinging to every curve and dip of his body, and his skin is basically golden tan.

Harry swallows dryly.

“Nice little place you have here,” Louis says after a moment, hands on his hips, “but I thought we were going for a coffee?”

“Oh!” Harry walks forward, taking Louis’ hoodie and hanging it on the coat rack in the foyer. “We are having coffee, but I’m making it.”

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, and he waggles an eyebrow, making Harry blush. “Are you now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, that means I can tell you I actually hate coffee.”

Harry stands up straight, eyebrows lifting. “I- how? What d’you like?”

“Tea.”

“British, right.S’cool.”

“Harry.”

“Sorry.”

Louis plops onto the couch as Harry hangs his own hoodie up and heads to the kitchen.

“I don't have tea,” he calls out a moment later. There’s no response, but he can hear feet padding to the kitchen.

“Do you have alcohol?” Louis asks, and when he turns around, he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “I bet you do; and you don't have tea?”

“I don't drink if often, honestly,” he shrugs apologetically. Louis sighs.

“Alright. But- you _do_ have alcohol, right?”

-

Louis is very handsy when tipsy. Harry is very okay with that.

It’s not like he didn't plan the evening to go like this; right now, Louis’ got him pressed flat-backed, lengthwise against the couch, straddling his hips, grinding their crotches together, and his little hands are gripping the black material of his shirt tightly, like he might die if he doesn't keep hold. They way he’s kissing Harry though; teeth and hot breaths and all desperate; he could think of it like that probably.

“Fuck,” he yelps, hips pushing up when Louis begins to thrust his own down. Louis laughs into the kiss at that, and he keeps grinding down, and now Harry can feel his cock fattening up in his skin-tight jeans, and he reaches back to grab a handful of his arse, kneading the flesh between his fingers, pressing his palm down, and Louis makes the hottest little noise and he’s just been shot in the head and sent to heaven, yeah.

“Almost there,” Louis whimpers, hands tightening when Harry tilts his head up, sucking on his thick bottom lip, and Harry lets a finger stray from the grip he’s got on Louis’ bum, slipping it down the crease of his jeans to press it to his hole through the material, and Louis gasps thickly at that, rocking his hips like he’s riding Harry’s cock now, shuddering as he comes, and Harry watches it happen, content with a flushed lapful of Louis.

Louis pants for a bit, loosening his grip on Harry’s shirt and before Harry can process it, he slips down Harry’s body, palming over his prick heavily before slipping his warm little hand under the waistband of both Harry’s jeans and boxers, gripping his prick tight.

Harry thrusts up into his grip, giving Louis room to tug down the tops of his pants and let his cock free, and he whines a bit when he sees it, thick and full in his hand, engorged shaft pulsing into his palm.

“You’re so bloody big,” he breathes, and then he’s ducking down, pressing his lips to the tip, suckling and flicking his tongue into the bubbling slit and yeah, fuck, that was what Harry needed.

His body jerks as he comes, hands loosely on Louis’ head, and Louis leans back a bit, opening his mouth to taste him a little before letting the rest splatter over his cheek, chin, lips. Fuckfuckfuck. Harry hates him but loves him a whole fucking lot.

“Well,” Louis comments lightly, lifting his face. Harry bites the inside of his mouth hard at his debauched state, “I reckon you never had time to use those bath products what with you coming in every day to stalk me.”

“Such a sweet-talker,” Harry mutters, and his voice is deep, always is after orgasm, and it makes Louis shiver full-bodily. Good. “If you want to take a bath with me, you could just ask.”

Louis sniffs, but when Harry doesn't move, just looks down at him with liquidity eyes, he sighs.

“Can we take a bath? Not because I want to see you fully-naked, glistening with water, of course, because I came in my fucking pants just now and that’s- no. Can we?”

Harry smiles, and Louis blushes. “Of course we can.”

-

They sit in his bathtub around twenty minutes later, Harry’s back to the ceramic, Louis’ back to his chest, and Louis is busy experimenting with Harry’s different bath items.

“D’you like bath salts?” he asks, peering over his shoulder. Harry shakes his head.

“Alright. What about, like, flowers in the bath?”

Harry makes a retching noise. Louis glares at him, wriggles on his lap so Harry’s dick presses between his ass cheeks, making his throat go dry. Noticeably.

“Fuck you,” Harry groans, letting his head thump against the slick walls. Louis giggles, muttering _fuck me, wouldn’t you like to_ , and Harry flicks his shoulder lazily.

“Alright,” he says, “what about bath bombs?”

Harry hums, brushing a hand through the damp back of Louis’ hair, sticking up all spiky because of the messy shampooing Harry gave him as Louis blew him properly. “If I’m being honest, I'm just a plain old shower guy. Not interested in dragging out bathroom time.”

Louis gasps, getting on his knees to turn around slightly, and Harry watches the droplets roll down his skin, the way his back curves into his arse, hiding under the water. “Unacceptable. If you’re thinking of making anymore moves on me, you’ll have to get used to a lot of bathroom time.”

Harry’s about to argue back until Louis says “also bathroom sex,” and he clamps his mouth shut.

“Yes, ma’am,” he relents, grinning at the twinkle in Louis’ eyes before he settles back into his old position.

“Good.” He reaches over himself and pats Harry’s chest with his fingertips; unable to reach more.

And it _is_ good.

It’s really good.


End file.
